I have tried mediation. Maybe it worked, a little. In some way it brought me here.

I have tried the gym. There was something satisfying to compartmentalise all of those issues, those problems, the important aspects of my life and physically compress them all into an exhausting routine. A routine that I could conquer.

I have worked at my career, achieved more than my ability should have allowed for and less than my work ethic would have served. Had I kept on, which I didn’t.

At school, or more accurately at home, I wrote a short story… it won a small competition and I felt a vindication that provided a self-belief. This was twenty years ago. That belief was quickly transformed to fit some bad choices, at least personally, and those choices almost killed me.

I’ve seen the world and enjoyed very little, only to end back where it all started happier than ever… which still doesn’t say a lot. Now I’m back doing what I should have been doing a long time ago.

Writing took me a thousand books to find. This Blog will take a while to get going… it may have little rhyme nor reason at first. There will be some fiction, but like all good fiction it will be rooted in truth.

What it means to write, to me, is more than everything. Everything I tried doesn’t make a difference on the page, it doesn’t push the pen or type the keys. Writing is all I’ve got.

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